


3-0

by cheride



Category: White Collar (TV 2009)
Genre: Choices, Consequences, Episode Related, Episode: s04e02 Most Wanted, Friendship, Gen, Home, Partnership
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26655955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheride/pseuds/cheride
Summary: Neal's having second thoughts after returning from Cape Verde, and some very definite thoughts about who's actually on the winning side of that famous win-loss record.
Relationships: Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey
Comments: 10
Kudos: 48





	3-0

“It was nice of June to let you come back to your place,” Peter said as he sipped a beer in the gathering twilight. “Even _I_ missed this view.” 

Neal let his gaze travel around the terrace and the well-appointed studio apartment just inside the glass doors. “I had a pretty decent view where I was,” he countered with a small smile, “but, yeah, I’m glad she had this one still waiting for me.”

Two days after returning from Cape Verde—after statements had been given and Neal Caffrey had been welcomed back almost as some sort of conquering hero and Peter Burke practically a pariah—the friends finally had the time to sit down and really catch up. They had spent the afternoon with Thai take-out and plenty of beer for Peter and wine for Neal. But the conversation had not been without its rough patches, and they were both on edge from the changes they’d been through, as well as waiting on whatever was going to happen with Peter’s upcoming transfer from the White Collar division. There was definitely a pall over what should have been a much more celebratory evening.

Burke sighed slightly. “I know you gave up a lot coming back here, but—”

“Peter,” Neal broke in, mildly agitated, “let’s not do this again. Yes, I had to give up some things on the island, but I had to give up a lot to leave here, too, and I’m grateful to be able to get that back. I told you I didn’t want to run anymore. This is where I want to be.”

“Well, I am really sorry about Mozzie.”

“Me, too, though I’m sure he’ll be back eventually. But, Peter, are you _trying_ to make me regret coming back?”

“Of course not! Coming back was the right thing to do, and if I haven’t said it plainly, I’m glad you agreed to do it.”

Caffrey huffed out his own sigh. “Me, too,” he repeated, “but it’s not like I really had much choice. There was a renegade federal agent on my ass, in case you’ve forgotten. One that _you_ managed to lead to me, if I understood your story correctly.” Burke’s strange mood on top of the Bureau’s heavy-handed response to their return had succeeded in moving him from mildly agitated to genuinely aggravated, though he truly didn’t want to be angry. He thought it likely evenings such as this were numbered, and he’d rather not ruin this one, but there was no denying the feelings bubbling up inside him.

“Yeah, but we both know you could’ve ditched Collins and me both if you’d really wanted to—left me behind instead of making me three and oh.” Peter grinned fractionally, but it had been a long few days—hell, a long couple of months—so there really wasn’t much humor.

“Yeah, right,” Neal muttered under his breath, “three and oh.” He punctuated the thought with a loud snort and an eye roll.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Burke asked defensively. He wasn’t used to his standard quip being met with such disgust. In fact, Caffrey was generally pretty unfazed by any reminder of his captures, handling it with the sort of sangfroid he used for most of life’s difficult situations.

Caffrey gave his head a rough shake. “Nothing.” He shoved himself up off the chair and limped his way back inside to pour another glass of wine.

Peter winced while watching the halting, ungraceful motion as Neal made his way across the apartment. The bullet wound his CI had received from Collins was healing, but it served as a constant reminder to Peter of his own responsibility for the injury.

Peter didn’t often feel guilty for his treatment of Caffrey—maybe not even as often as he _should_ —but this was definitely an exception to that rule. Mainly because the young man was correct that Collins would never have discovered Caffrey’s island hideout if not for Burke. But even beyond that, the whole thing—Neal’s entire flight from custody—was Peter’s fault to begin with . . . or at least _largely_ his fault. Specifically, because he’d been the one to wave Neal off from returning to his commutation hearing so that Agent Kramer wouldn’t take the consultant into custody and extend his indentured servitude forever. But, more than that, Peter was the one who brought Kramer into their lives to begin with, when he called the man in from DC to investigate Neal’s involvement with the treasure from the sub. Not that Neal was entirely without blame—he did _have_ the treasure, after all—but Burke couldn’t deny that he’d started a dreadful chain of events with that first call to Kramer.

So, maybe his guilty conscience was making him a little testy today as he reckoned with the idea that in the span of two months, he’d been responsible for uprooting Neal’s life not once but twice, but Peter still didn’t understand why—of all the things they’d discussed—Neal would be pissed off by a typical comment about the number of times Peter had successfully caught his favorite felon.

“Let me help you,” Burke said, rising to meet the younger man as he trudged back through the dining area. Caffrey had poured his glass of wine, then apparently decided to bring the bottle as well. But his leg was obviously hurting, and Neal had grabbed the cane he’d borrowed from June to help make the trek back from the kitchen, leaving him one hand short, with both the bottle and his glass gripped in his left hand, liquid sloshing precariously as he made his way across the room.

Even so, Caffrey was being stubborn. “I’ve got it,” he snapped, trying to push past Burke.

“Neal.”

The single word, layered with confusion and genuine concern, stopped him. “Sorry,” Neal said with a sigh. “Yes, if you could take this glass, that would be great.”

Peter relieved him of the glass and the bottle both, carrying them out to the patio table, leaving Neal to take his time getting back. “You okay?” he asked when Caffrey finally lowered himself back into a chair.

“I’m fine. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” Burke asked.

Caffrey shook his head slowly. “Let’s just enjoy the evening. I really did miss this view.” He took a slow sip from his glass as he looked out at the cityscape. “I built it out of sandcastles once,” he said softly. “I did it to show Maya mostly, but it also gave me a good excuse to remember.” He glanced back at Peter. “You think she’ll really get that reward money Collins promised her?”

“No reason she shouldn’t. Collins got to bring you in, he was authorized to make the offer, and there’s no reason he should suspect she was in on the setup, even with the whole MacLeish arrangement. They’ll probably try to pay it out in installments or something, but she should get it.”

“Good. I’m glad something came out of it besides adding to your win-loss record.”

Burke arched an eyebrow and lowered the bottle slowly from his lips. “Okay, seriously, what’s going on with you?”

There were several long beats of silence before Neal finally said, “Half a million dollars, that’s what I was worth to the Bureau.”

“It’s a lot of money,” Peter drawled, trying not to rush into something he didn’t understand, “I would’ve thought you’d like that.”

“It is a lot of money,” Caffrey agreed, “and you know why? Because I’m good at what I do.”

“Good at what you _did_ , you mean.”

That got a quirk of a grin from the younger man, and a slight duck of his chin in rueful acknowledgment before he continued. “Peter, when you were chasing me, do you remember how many different crimes you suspected me of?”

Burke had given up on trying to get ahead of this conversation; he was just going along for the ride. Whatever he’d done to get on the wrong side of his CI all of a sudden, he’d just have to cowboy up and deal with it once Caffrey was ready to spit it out. “I don’t know,” he answered with a small shrug, “dozens.”

“Twenty-nine, to be precise,” Caffrey told him. “I have my files, remember?” he said when Peter raised a quizzical eyebrow.

Peter flashed his own grin. “And was I right about all of them?”

“No, but you might have, hypothetically, been really close. But your list was far from complete.”

“I did update my _personal_ file after your night of immunity, so at least it should be complete now.”

Caffrey glared at the agent. “Since no one’s arrested me for any new charges, I’ll assume that file is better secured than your damn map, but I’d still feel better if you maybe quit putting such incriminating information in writing. You keep believing the entire Bureau is as honorable as you are, Peter, and that’s dangerous for me.

“But, to the matter at hand, your file is _more_ complete.”

“You still didn’t tell me everything.” Burke sounded a little bit hurt.

“I told you everything about Adler, just like you asked.” Caffrey offered no apology for any information withheld.

“Since we talked about pretty much the entire span of your career, I guess I assumed we covered the big stuff. How many more are we missing?”

“Well, they’re certainly not all big, and I’ve never really counted, but I’d guess your list is maybe fifty percent.”

“ _Half?_ ” Burke gaped across at the other man. “You committed _double_ the crimes I ever suspected you of?”

“Allegedly. Maybe a lifted jewel here, a forged signature there. Not big heists, just . . . I don’t know, pocket money.”

Peter shook his head. “And you’re telling me this why?”

“Making a point. Next question: how many times did you put together a takedown operation for me? Or go flying off to some city to catch me?”

“Enough that I was beginning to think Elizabeth might divorce me before I caught you. But I’m guessing you know that number, too.”

“I stopped counting at seventy-five; I was feeling kind of bad for you.”

“Still waiting for the point,” Burke snapped.

“Here it is then. When you arrested me the first time, I knowingly walked into a trap just to see Kate again. Sure, I hoped I was wrong, and thought that if you really were waiting for me, maybe I could still get away, but I was pretty sure you’d be there.

“The second time, I’d been sitting in that damned apartment for almost two hours, knowing someone would be coming. I didn’t know it would be you, and I’ll admit, you got there sooner than I anticipated, but I wasn’t trying to get away.

“And on the island, I had Hector bring you to me. You said yourself, I could’ve slipped away if I’d wanted. It wouldn’t have been easy, and Collins would’ve been a problem, but you caught me because I wanted you to—because I really didn’t want to run anymore.”

Peter thought he was starting to put things together. “You’re not seriously going to tell me— _again_ —that I didn’t catch you fair and square. I’m pretty sure we settled that a long time ago.”

“No,” Neal said. “Even if I might still believe that, that’s not what I’m saying at all. What I _am_ saying, though, is that you’ve been overstating your record for years. Three and oh needs to have an asterisk beside it, because the truth is, _at best_ , your record is about three and seventy-five. **_Seventy-five_** , Peter; that’s how many times you actively tried to catch me and didn’t. And, actually, yeah, maybe even those three times you had a bit of help.

“So maybe just once, instead of being so damned smug about how you were able to lock me up, or drag me back to a different kind of prison, just _once_ maybe you could at least acknowledge that there were seventy-five _other_ times that you couldn’t get it done; that seventy-five other times, I was better than you. Just one goddamned time.”

It’s hard to make a dramatic exit when you’ve got a bullet hole in your leg, but Caffrey did the best he could, grabbing his cane and huffing over to the end of the terrace where he leaned against the balustrade, deliberately keeping his back to Burke.

For his part, Peter sat silently, staring across the table at the spot his consultant had vacated. He clamped down on the instinctive argument he wanted to spit out, trying to think through whatever was really going on. Caffrey was obviously honestly angry, and he’d built a solid argument of facts and figures just as obviously designed to cut directly into Burke and provoke an equally angry response; the question was, why? Because there was no way in hell Neal Caffrey was actually pissed off about a win-loss record.

Swiveling around in his chair, Burke watched the unmoving Caffrey for another long moment, then said, “I don’t think I’ve ever made a secret of the fact that catching you the first time was probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And if I didn’t think you were good at what you do— _did_ —I never would’ve taken your deal. So what? You want me to start saying I’m three and seventy-five? I can do that, if it’ll make you feel better, but wouldn’t it maybe be easier if you just tell me what in the hell is wrong with you tonight?”

“Something has to be wrong with me just because I pointed out that maybe you’re not as good as you like to pretend?” He shifted a bit, trying to take the pressure off his wounded leg, but Neal still didn’t turn around.

“Honestly? Yeah. Because just like I know you were damn good at what you did, you know I’m damn good, too. Whatever’s bugging you, it’s not the idea that I didn’t really deserve to catch you or you being pissed off about some sort of inflated record that you’ve agreed with for almost two years now.”

“I don’t think this is something that can be worked out tonight, Peter; maybe you should just go.” The anger was gone from Caffrey’s tone entirely, replaced with cold resolve.

Burke examined his young friend a moment more, then twisted back around to face the table. “I’m not leaving,” he said simply, and went back to drinking his beer.

Behind him, Neal’s shoulders slumped. “Peter . . .”

“You should get off your feet, Neal; give your leg a rest.”

There were a couple of minutes of strained silence before Caffrey exhaled loudly and then limped back over to the table. “I’m sorry,” he said sullenly as he dropped into his chair. “I’m pissed off, but not at you. Things are totally screwed up right now. Why are you not more upset?”

Peter took a moment longer to reply, still watching Neal closely. Even with the light from the apartment, it was hard to see well in the darkness, but if he missed something, it wouldn’t be for lack of attention. “What is it you think I should be pissed off about?”

Blue eyes widened in stark surprise. “You’re joking, right?”

“You’re worried about my transfer?”

“You’re not?”

“Look, Neal, this is the way the Bureau does things. Wherever they’re sending me, it probably won’t be forever.”

“ _Probably?_ That means maybe it _will_ be?” Caffrey dragged a hand over weary eyes. “God, Peter, I’m sorry; this is all my fault.”

“It isn’t,” Peter told him, shaking his head for emphasis. “I understood the risks I was taking when I went after you. I don’t regret my choices.”

Neal dropped his gaze to the wine in front of him that had been mostly untouched. Running a fingertip around the edge of the glass, he studiously avoided Peter’s gaze. The agent didn’t care for the evasion.

“Neal?” Peter narrowed his eyes dangerously when he didn’t receive a response. “ _Neal._ ”

Caffrey finally raised his eyes to meet the older brown pair, though he still didn’t speak. But Burke thought the tortured uncertainty in his friend’s eyes said an awful lot.

“Neal, what are you planning? This isn’t the time to do anything stupid.”

“I’m not—” Caffrey broke off. It also wasn’t the time to lie.

“Caffrey,” Peter growled out a warning, “honest to God, I’ll lock you up myself if you don’t start talking.”

Neal rolled his eyes at the threat, not _quite_ believing it, but he did as he was told anyway. “I really did give up a lot to come back,” he said slowly, trying to explain carefully. “An easy life, a pretty girl, _freedom._ ”

“Wanted men aren’t free,” Peter pointed out.

“Okay, _relative_ freedom. But a hell of a lot longer leash than two miles.”

“You said you wanted to come home.”

Caffrey nodded. “But home meant certain things.” He waved a hand at the view, taking it all in again. “This is great, but this isn’t why I came back.” He forced his eyes back to Peter’s. “And I didn’t come back to this gilded cage to let someone else hold the key.”

And then it all clicked for Burke—Caffrey’s uncharacteristic anger, the attempt at dragging him into an argument and pushing him away, the young man’s even more uncharacteristic guilt, the conflicted look in his eyes that betrayed his intention to do something he didn’t really want to do—all of it.

“Neal, you can’t.” Peter leaned forward on the table, closing the already small distance that separated him from his friend. “I just got you back,” he said earnestly, “and I don’t have any more strings to pull right now. You can’t run again. You _can’t._ ”

“Peter—”

“No!” Peter smacked his hand loudly on the tabletop. “ _No._ This won’t be forever, I promise. I’ll take their punishment, and I’ll figure out a way back to White Collar as quickly as I can. I won’t leave you alone with them. But that means you can’t leave me alone with them, either. You have to stay.”

“But it isn’t fair,” Caffrey objected. “You found me; you found MacLeish. You should be getting a commendation or a promotion, not a transfer. You shouldn’t be in trouble because of me.”

“And you think taking off again is going to make that better?”

Caffrey hung his head. “No,” he said softly. “That’s because your punishment isn’t fair to me, either.” He glanced up from beneath his lashes, almost shyly. “I came back for you, Peter, not the Bureau. But it seems like you should’ve just left me where I was.”

“I don’t believe that,” Burke said firmly.

“But—"

“I told you,” Peter interrupted, “I don’t regret my choices. Don’t make me change my mind.”

His hesitation stretched for a long while, but finally, blowing out a long, deep sigh, Neal managed a small grin. “We wouldn’t want that.”

“So, you’ll stay?” Peter prompted. “Promise?”

One more moment of consideration before a final answer. “I won’t even think about running until you’re back in White Collar to chase me again. How’s that?”

“Not exactly what I was hoping for,” Peter laughed, relieved, “but it’s a start.”

Caffrey shrugged and let his grin spread. “You can’t blame me if, at some point, I need to try and break that perfect record of yours. Three and one would at least let me save a little face.”

Eyebrows raised in amusement, Peter went along. “Maybe. But just think how bad you’d feel about four and oh. That’s a big risk, you know.”

“You think so, do you?”

“That wasn’t a challenge, Caffrey; it meant quit while you’re ahead.”

Neal laughed as he looked around again, taking it all in once more—the fantastic cityscape lighting up the blackness of night, the ornate terrace, the apartment he really did love, and the friend who made it all possible time and time again. Maybe Peter’s perfect record wasn’t so bad, after all. Neal still had a few reservations, but there was no one he trusted more than Peter Burke, so he would find a way to push them aside.

With a mostly contented smile, he raised his glass. “To three and oh.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for spending a bit of your time with me today!


End file.
